The “recommerce” of old stock may be more shrewd than sustainable

In February, I went to Yorkville to try on a pair of pants at Arc’teryx, the Canadian outdoor apparel company whose shell jackets, fleece zip-ups, and toques are favoured equally by mountaineers and Jacob Elordi. But the pants I wanted were sold out nearly everywhere, including the store. Deflated but determined, I fired up the Gem app—a search engine that aggregates online listings for second-hand clothes. I could barely find a pair for less than $350, the same as the Canadian retail price, and several were set at nearly double. This suggests that resellers from the United States to Japan believe they’ve cornered a small but starving market for these pants. At least among my cohort of millennial men with shopping addictions.

But just as I was losing hope, I was given a lifeline. The sales associate told me to search for the pants on ReBird, the brand’s resale site where customers can buy refurbished and authenticated gear at a discount. The site offered refurbished pants ranging from roughly 25 to 50 percent less than the retail price. I signed up for email alerts when my desired size and colour become available. Nothing yet, but I remain optimistic.

Globally, second-hand fashion is growing twice as fast as the primary market thanks, in part, to inflation, eco-conscious consumption, the soaring cost of luxury goods, and the social media trend churn. There is an unquenchable thirst for new old stuff. In cities big and small, thrift stores appear to be sprouting up at nearly the same rate as vape shops. Online resale platforms, like Depop, Grailed, and Poshmark, contribute to a booming, multi-billion-dollar market. In 2025, 148 fashion brands were operating their own resale platform, up from just nine in 2020. Brands including Levi’s, H&M, Arc’teryx, Ralph Lauren, and Rolex, along with retailers like Simons and Selfridges, have piloted or launched “recommerce” (reverse commerce) initiatives, selling pre-owned clothes through their own stores.

The industry insiders and experts I spoke with say in-house resale programs are a win-win. Brands and retailers can contribute to a more circular economy while padding their bottom lines and overseeing quality and authenticity, which consumers value. Shoppers can find designer deals and dabble in different styles, potentially developing an appreciation for the longevity of materials and design.

It’s surely a shrewd, if overdue, move for brands and retailers to reap the profits of the secondary market while earning points for sustainability. But recommerce is just that: repeat commerce. Retailers are overproducing and consumers are shopping more than ever before. Recommerce’s eco-friendly sheen belies a muddier truth: that the circular economy doesn’t curb the fashion industry’s biggest problems. It may even reinforce them.

Historically, second-hand shoppers did so because they had to. But price consciousness is no longer the sole driver of the pre-loved market. Instead, it’s that shopping is fun, social, and allows one to experiment with their personal style. Thrifting, for example, has become more about “seeking uniqueness, nostalgia,” says Karun Tangri, a doctoral candidate and lecturer at Toronto Metropolitan University studying consumer motivations.

The second-hand market is comprised of two submarkets. “It’s like a barbell,” says Stefan Read, the senior vice president of strategy and applied artificial intelligence at Jackman Reinvents, a retail consultancy based in Toronto. On one end is thrifting, or “the treasure hunt,” he says. On the other is the market for pre-owned luxury goods, including fashion, watches, and jewellery, which pre-pandemic, Read says, mostly catered to collectors but has since undergone “a bit of a gentrified rebrand to ‘vintage.’” Even then, the margins for most mainstream (or first-hand) retailers were too thin to support in-house resale programs, especially without the logistical or technological capabilities. Plus, at the time, demand was growing but not enough. “It just wasn’t feasible,” Read says. “How do you grade the quality of what’s coming back in? How do you then get that up on your purchasing platforms? And how do you do that without cannibalizing your core product?”

Eventually, retailers responded to a cultural shift in the way people shopped. Consumer demand exploded, the technology to manage inventory and authenticate goods matured, and a profitable middle market emerged that bridged the gap between thrifting and luxury. “All of a sudden, you didn’t have to know a guy or be a collector to access vintage goods,” Read says. There was now a thriving demand for affordable luxury that retailers could meet.

Patagonia, Levi’s, and Arc’teryx are just a few of the mid-range global brands that have launched second-hand programs where customers can buy authenticated used or vintage pieces. Luxury heritage brands with deep archives and deep-pocketed clients, like Gucci, Rolex, and Ralph Lauren, sell pre-owned pieces either through their own channels or have partnered with consignment platforms like The RealReal, which allows them to control the price and certify the provenance of their vintage goods. “What they’re basically saying is, ‘We stand behind our product. We are the ones who have the ability to really authenticate that it’s the real deal,’” says Read. “Because that’s always a risk in the second-hand luxury market.”

In Canada and beyond, department stores are getting in on the action too. Simons sells a selection of “pre-loved” clothes at its locations across the country, and Holt Renfrew has partnered with luxury consignment retailers to offer a selection of second-hand pieces from brands like Gucci, Yves Saint Laurent, and Bottega Veneta. (In late 2020, Simons tested a similar partnership with two consignment boutiques.) As part of a push to make 45 percent of its sales second-hand by 2030, the upmarket British retailer Selfridges launched its resale initiative Reselfridges, sourcing archival designer goods through customer trade-ins and external partners.

Some brands, like Banana Republic, resell pieces from their own archives. Roots, for instance, offers a small selection at its store in Toronto’s Rosedale neighbourhood, sourced from private collectors on sites like eBay. In its current nascent phase, the retailer considers their vintage offerings more of a brand-building tactic than an important revenue driver. “It’s not a massive part of our business,” says Joey Gollish, Roots’ creative director-in-residence. Ralph Lauren resells archival styles for five times the price. Speaking to the website The Fashion Law, Ryan Atkins, the co-founder and chief executive officer of the circular commerce platform Supercycle, said a $90 hunting vest might go for $500 through Ralph Lauren’s curated channel.

John Seagrave, the owner of Seagrave’s, a men’s consignment store with two locations in Toronto, is pleased to see big companies hop aboard the resale train but recognizes that buying vintage doesn’t mean people are shopping less. “Fast fashion is not going to go away,” he says. “But I think people are more open to recycling and getting better quality [clothes] for a better price.”

It would be more encouraging to see a greater industry-wide embrace of circularity initiatives if they helped reduce the production of cheap, new stuff. But the explosion of the secondary market hasn’t supplanted the mainstream one. It has supplemented it. More clothes are being made, bought, and sold than ever before. A recent study conducted by researchers at Yale University and Bar Ilan University found no behavioural differences between fast-fashion and second-hand shoppers, illustrating what Tangri calls the “value-action gap” between shoppers’ stated beliefs and actual behaviours.

“You could be someone who buys vintage and has very little concern or knowledge of the environmental impact of the clothing industry,” he says.

I love clothes, and I love the high of the hunt for vintage. I also consider myself a critical shopper who’s mindful of my environmental impact and the human cost of designing, making, and shipping my clothes. I also get high off the hunt. Recently, my friends pillaged a pile of my clothes that were destined for donation or consignment—an assortment of thrifted finds and a few newish pieces I’d barely worn. I was proud to give these clothes, shoes, sunglasses, and tote bags a second, third, or fourth life. Two days later, I traipsed to my neighbourhood Value Village and replenished my stock. We tell ourselves stories in order to shop.

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Why Levi’s, H&M, and Even Luxury Brands Are Selling Second-Hand Clothes